North Reich (50 page)

      
Tony did as he was told, even though he felt foolish standing there buck naked for a moment.
 
He couldn’t help but wonder if anyone was watching.
 
Then he decided he didn’t give a shit.
 
The bag even included underwear, which meant he could ditch everything he had on that identified him as U.S. military. The clothing even fit fairly well.

      
For a few minutes, he stood by the truck.
 
The same door the Italian soldiers had taken opened and an attractive woman a few years older than he walked up to him.

      
“Enjoying your freedom, sub killer?” she said with a smile.

      
Tony restrained his surprise.
 
“Not yet.
 
What the hell’s going on?”

      
“You’re out of the camp.
 
Does anything else matter?”

      
“Yeah, I’m an American pilot and I want to get back to my unit.
 
And by the way, what’s happening to the four guys who sprung me?”

      
“Don’t worry.
 
Their reward for helping us get you out is a free trip to the United States.
 
We’ll get them across the St. Lawrence somewhere around Maine and they’ll be met by other people who will see to their safety.
 
It’ll take a few weeks to get them across, but they’re safe.”

      
“Great, when’s my turn to go home?”

      
She touched his arm and steered him through the building and out the door where an old Ford was waiting.
 
“It’ll be a little while.
 
Can you drive this?”

      
“Of course.
 
You Canadians do drive on the left side of the road, don’t you?”

      
When she looked surprised it was his turn to laugh.
 
“Gotcha.
 
Yeah, I can drive anything with wheels or wings.”

      
She shook her head and smiled back.
 
“Good one.
 
Now, can you fly a Piper Cub?”

      
“I’ve done it a couple of times” he said as he settled behind the wheel.
 
It felt good to be able to drive.
 
“Let’s face it, if you can fly a big bad B24, you can fly pretty much anything.
 
Can I ask why?”

      
“Yes, but first, did you really sink four U-boats?”

      
“Me and my crew, yeah, and it’s a damn shame so many of them are dead because of me.
 
One more and we would’ve been an ace, the first guy whose plane sank five Nazi subs.”

      
She smiled broadly; pleased that he knew he hadn’t operated alone.
 
“Well, that’s why we sprung you.
 
You’re going to have that opportunity.”

      
“Wonderful.
 
Now, can I ask you your name?”

      
“Sure thing.
 
It’s Sherry.”

Jed and Wally Munro had had it up to their asses, as they liked to say, with the restraints put on them by Neumann.
 
With the war getting hotter each day, the Black Shirts of the Canadian Legion had been told to behave themselves and it was frustrating.
 
Their numbers were diminishing as the rats, as Neumann called them, deserted the ship.
 
People had begun openly mocking them and even pushing them on the streets.
 
It had to stop.

      
The two brothers called a meeting of other Black Shirts and it was decided that they would raise a little hell and who cared what Neumann thought.
 
Canada was their country, not his.
 
They revered Hitler but were coming around to the thought that Neumann was a pompous little prick.

      
Their target was a good-sized restaurant near downtown Toronto that specialized in family fare, which meant it wouldn’t be filled with tough construction workers and other types that might be a problem.
 
It was early Saturday night and more than a hundred diners sat at tables, with another group of twenty or so waiting in line.

      
The Shirts arrived in a caravan consisting of four cars and two trucks.
 
The Munro brothers had gathered more than thirty men for their attack.
 
They wanted it to be overwhelming and sudden.

      
While they gathered down the street from the restaurant, a number of passersby prudently decided to leave the area.
 
A couple of them took the opportunity to find a pay phone and call the police, telling them that trouble was brewing.

      
The cops were busy that night with crimes in progress and didn’t have the manpower to check on potential ones, but they did manage to send one car to check on the problem.
 
Detective Mike Bradford was the only cop in the car and it was simply coincidence that he was in the area.
 
Since his daughter’s murder, he’d only wanted to be left alone, so driving to a potential problem all by himself was fine by him.
 
He’d been neglecting himself, not eating right and drinking far too much.
 
He’d lost a lot of weight, but it made him look slack, not lean. Even though it was still early, he’d already knocked back several shots of good Canadian Club whiskey, hoping that the alcohol would lessen the pain.
 
It didn’t; it never did.
 
It only made his anger burn more furiously.

      
Inside the restaurant it was noisy and the crowd was good-natured.
 
The Munros had selected it because it looked easy and they’d been told that Jews were among its clientele.
 
There would be no German military personnel.
 
It had been made abundantly clear to them that they weren’t welcome.
 
Any Germans in uniform were treated to exceedingly slow and rude service, along with cold and poorly cooked meals.
 
It was another good reason to choose it.
 
The same held true with young men with German accents.
 
It was presumed that they were from the Wehrmacht.

      
As the group marched in loose order to the door, several patrons exiting the restaurant actually ran away, while the waiting line disbursed.
 
At Jed’s signal, they poured into the main dining room, baseball bats and other clubs flailing.
 
Screams filled the room. Men and women were knocked bloody and senseless to the ground along with children who got in the way.
 
There was a mass race to the rear of the restaurant, which resulted in people getting trampled.
 

The Black Shirts further amused themselves by ripping the clothing off the women so that several dozen were nearly naked in a matter of seconds.
 
There wouldn’t be time to rape them, so this would have to do.
 
They’d thought about taking some of the younger and better looking women back with them, but that would mean killing them when they were through.
 
This was just supposed to be a reminder of the Shirt’s power, not a massacre.
 
If a couple of people didn’t recover from their beatings, so fucking what, they’d laughed.

Enough, Jed thought as he surveyed the scene.
 
It was time to get the hell out before the police finally showed up.
 
He knew they’d be delayed a few minutes, but not much longer.
 
He blew a referee’s whistle several times to get his gang’s attention and signaled that it was time to go.
 
A couple of the men fondling terrified women were slow to let go of their treasures, but a few quick punches and kicks by the brothers got them going.

Jed was the last one out.
 
He turned and yelled, “Fuck all you Jews.”
 
Whether there were Jews inside or not just seemed like the right thing to say, he thought exultantly.

Outside and across the street, Mike Bradford watched as the scene unfolded.
 
His eyes were drawn to the Munro brothers who’d stood outside, laughing.
 
He’d looked at their photos every day and swore that he’d kill them if he ever got the chance.
 
Now they were in his sight and committing a major crime.
 
He’d already phoned in for reinforcements and backup would be along in a few minutes.

As the thugs left the restaurant he saw to his dismay that they would be in their trucks and cars and a long ways away before the police arrived.
 
Once again he wondered if some of his comrades at headquarters were intentionally delaying the response.
 
Finally, he saw Jed and Wally leave the restaurant.
 
They were laughing.
 
He couldn’t take it anymore.
 
Blind with rage, he lurched out of the car, pulled his pistol and walked up to them.
 
Wally was the closest and he turned in shock to see an armed man coming at him.

“Police,” yelled Bradford, “you’re under arrest.”

With that formality out of the way, Bradford started shooting at point blank range.
 
Bullets hit Wally, spinning him like a top before he fell to the ground.
 
By then the other brother had his own gun out and was firing.
 
Something punched Mike Bradford in the chest and then, before he could fall, another bullet blew the top of his head off.
 
His last thought was of Mary and she was smiling at him.

This time Colonel Downing was being very formal.
 
Their conclusions would be kicked up to Eisenhower and maybe all the way to Marshall.
 

“Then it is your opinion, Colonel Grant, that Guderian will attack Patton and not the other way around?”

      
“Correct, sir.”

      
“And the others in the group concur?”

      
“Yes sir.
 
We’re getting too much corroborating information from too many sources.”

      
If anything, they’d been overwhelmed with information.
 
First, the photos from planes that flew with impunity over southern Ontario either took pictures or made observations.
 
The Germans had done a masterful job of hiding their tanks, planes, and infantry from prying eyes, but their efforts were a long ways from perfect.
 

Eyes on the ground, consisting of Canadians who wanted the Germans defeated, along with the OSS, reported the movement of large numbers of tanks and manpower westward.
 
Since that German line was holding its own against Patton’s pressure and didn’t need reinforcing, the only conclusion to be drawn was that a German spoiling attack was imminent.

These same eyes also reported that many of the tanks and other vehicles destroyed by airpower had been dummies.
 
The vast majority of German armored strength had not been touched.

This idea had met with resistance from a number of sources. After all, didn’t Patton greatly outnumber the Germans he was confronting and wasn’t he gradually whittling them down?
 
Breakthrough and victory weren’t right around the corner, but they did appear inevitable.

And as to the airpower being ineffective, that was absolute heresy to the air force brass who seethed at the thought.
 
Yes pilots exaggerated, but film cameras did not, and they showed that between a third and half of German armor had been destroyed.

General Henry, “Hap,” Arnold commanded the Army Air Force and he was a firmly believed that airpower would play the decisive role in the Ontario campaign.
 
He had been livid at the thought that the bombings had been so ineffective and flatly denied the accuracy of the intelligence reports.

The air force also refused to accept the idea that many of the “tanks” and other installations bombing had destroyed might have been dummies.

Downing was glum.
 
“I don’t know whether we’re right or wrong, but I can’t imagine that Guderian, one of the leaders in blitzkrieg warfare, would simply sit by and let us punch his army to pieces without doing anything about it.
 
It’s just not his style.”

“Nor can I, sir,” said Tom.

“Relax Tom, interrogation is over.
 
I believe what you’re saying and we’re all on the same page.
 
Von Arnim might let that happen, but that man got his skull crushed and it’s Guderian who’s in charge and Guderian believes in attacking.

Grant took a seat.
 
“What do you think Patton will do with the info?”

“We’ll find out soon enough.
 
I think the higher brass will argue the idea to death and give Patton a lukewarm and watered down warning.
 
Ergo, you are going to Patton’s headquarters to give the great man a personal review of the situation.
 
With a little luck, you might be there when the hammer falls.
 
It’ll be great experience for you.
 
Just try not to get shot.”